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I really hate it when the characters in a horror movie show absolutely zero common sense whatsoever. It makes you wonder why someone would be that stupid to go into the dark alley/check out the weird noise/not bother to set the phone to vibrate/et cetera. So when a character shows a shred of common sense, I start whoopin’ it up from the cheap seats like there’s no tomorrow. I did that with Danny Donahue’s short Vermin. At two minutes, it’s short, creepy and to the point.

FINALLY, someone that hears something weird and goes to investigate, but also has the common sense to pick up the phone and call for help. Now, given, it didn’t work out for her in the end (and I think I’ll be checking underneath the bed from now on, as well as the location of my hammer), but still, it’s the thought that counts. Kudos to Donahue for using music, sound and lighting to completely freak me out. I really liked how he kept it dark without having to make it look like it was cheap. A good scare, which can be tough to do in two minutes.

This past summer, my friend Kathryn (who is fucking awesome) sent me a link on YouTube to watch Funky Forest. I made the mistake of starting to watch it right then and there. For the next thirty minutes, I poceeded to stare at my computer screen, slack-jawed and mildly horrified. I couldn’t stop watching. So, naturally, I have to tell you to watch it as well. (We function under the same rules as The Ring here at The Backseat Driver Reviews: I have to inflict the weird things I find on you, lest the creepy kid climb through my television to kill me.) Here are five reasons to bop on over to YouTube this weekend and check outF Funky Forest: The First Contact.

It’s special. Yeah. Special is a good word to describe this film.

#1 – It’s a two and a half hour… experience

Two and a half hours of insane plot, iffy special effects, hammy acting and … you know what? There are tons of other surprises. I know that I go spoiler-heavy in this blog, but this one… this one is special. I’m not saying a damn thing more. You need to experience this for yourself.

#2 – It’s segmented

Can’t do two and a half hours in one stretch? Good news: Funky Forest is broken into segments! In all honesty, there were some points where I needed to walk away from this one. If I’m being completely honest, then I need to disclose that I kept coming back to it. I’d watch it in fits and spurts. If you can do the whole shot at once, more power to you. I doled this one out like it was a World War Two ration of butter. Great, now I want butter…

No context for you!

#3 – The music is pretty insane

At times, the music’s tone is strangely sentimental. Other times, it feels like you’re stuck in a circa-1978 porno. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the line uttered at that moment was, “What are these two plumbers doing here?” I have to admit, though, that the effect it has on the film is an increase in the fun factor. Completely bizarre, but it adds to the experience. Again, you need to experience this one first hand. Add to it the dancing at times, and it gets even stranger.

#4 – Did I mention that it’s completely fucking weird?

I don’t say that lightly. I’ve sat through some weird stuff that I find totally normal that others can’t stomach for being too out-there (man, the looks I got for putting on Peter Jackson’s Meet the Feebles one evening…). I can handle weird; I usually watch it with a smile. So when I say that something is completely fucking weird, I mean that I started to wonder if someone had started pumping nitrous oxide through my ventilation system without telling me. It’s that out-there. Marvellous? Strange? Glorious? Traumatic? You be the judge.

#5 – Seriously, it’s weird

You know that feeling you get when you watch a Japanese gameshow and you wonder how on earth someone came up with the idea for a human being to wear a giant pickle suit that’s covered in gravy while running an obstacle course with a horde of angry chinchillas chasing said gravy-covered pickle? (The worst part of that statement: you’ve watched a show matching that exact description in the wee hours of the morning at some point in your life.) That’s really what watching this film is like. You won’t be able to tear your eyes away from it.

Yes, this is an actual still.

Oh, and there’s even a bonus reason….

#6– Rinko Kikuchi
I have an unabashed crush on Rinko Kikuchi. You ever want to see me really happy? Throw on Pacific Rim. The blue streaks in her hair are possibly my favorite look of hers, and the costumes are kind too: I don’t know if I like the combat boots and umbrella combo or Jaeger suit better. As a bonus, she’s in a giant robot fighting monsters! SHE GETS THE GODDAMNED VOLTRON SWORD AT ONE POINT! But I digress. So yeah, she’s in this. Her hair is really long and she’s very pretty when she smiles. She’s not afraid to do quirky stuff, either, which just makes her all the more endearing. So if you’re a really simple creature like yours truly, it’s reason enough to watch it.

Have you seen Anthony DiBlasi’s 2009 film Dread? Part of After Dark’s 8 Films to Die For, it stars Jackson Rathbone (Evil Harpo to you Riff Trax fans), Shaun Evans (Endeavour) and Laura Donnelly (Outlander). If you haven’t, you need to boogie on over to Amazon and rent it for $3.99. Seriously, I’ll wait. We need to talk about this one.

This is much better than you’d think.

Back? Good. If you didn’t make the jump, then please be prepared for spoilers. (I know, I know, this is an analysis blog and spoilers are par for the course with me, but this one is special. I respect it enough to warn you. That doesn’t always happen.)

Let me preface this by saying that Clive Barker is sacred to me. I cut my teeth on The Thief of Always and then moved on to The Books of Blood right around the time I hit 13. I prefer his works to those of Stephen King – Barker has always managed to up the scary and imaginative ante for me, and he explores far darker recesses of the human psyche, most often touching on the association between pleasure and pain. So when one of his books or short stories is made into a film, I often pray that it’s not going to get fucked up. There are some stinkers out there. And I am the first to admit that I was concerned this would be one of them.

Initially, the film sounds pretty solid: Stephen (Rathbone) and Quaid (Evans) team up to document the nature of fear by interviewing subjects, though Quaid has darker motives. In the short story, Quaid forces an unnamed vegetarian woman to eat spoiled meat, then turns his methods on Stephen. Stephen suffered from a bought of childhood deafness, and dreaded the thought of returning to a state that left him feeling isolated and robbed of his senses; once Quaid induces this state via sensory deprivation, he causes a complete psychological break that turns Stephen into an unhinged, child-like being. The kicker: after making Stephen relive his fear, Quaid’s own worst fear of being attacked by a murderous clown (based off of an actual event wherein a man dressed as a clown killed his parents in childhood) is realized when Stephen – dressed in oversized clothes and sporting an unnatural, unwavering smile – shows up and butchers him with an axe. More than enough material there for a movie, and no reason why it shouldn’t have been able to adapted. At no point in that description does anything unfilmable show up. This isn’t V.A.L.I.S., people.

So when I watched it, I could feel my teeth gritting. DiBlasi (who wrote it as well) added a backstory for Stephen that included a fear of driving due to a brother that died in a D.U.I. wreck. He named Barker’s previously-unnamed vegetarian woman Cheryl (Hanne Steen) and made her into a love interest for Stephen. He also added a fellow student named Abby (Donnelly), an outcast with port wine birthmarks all over her body. To top it off, he gave the deafness storyline to a brand-new character named Joshua (Jonathan Readwin) – at first, I was more than a smidgen annoyed by this, as there was no reason why Stephen’s storyline needed to be reworked. I was confused and angry, because nothing in the story needed to be redone. It was fine the way it was. By the time we got to Joshua killing Stephen and the reveal that Quaid had plans for Cheryl to cannibalize Stephen’s corpse for survival, I was pissed. I wanted to hate it, and for two weeks, I was pissed on principle. However, two weeks went by, and I could still hear Evans saying, “Let’s see how hungry you have to be to get through that.” Something about that line stuck with me. It was under my skin. And that’s when I realized that if I was still thinking about it after two weeks, maybe DiBlasi was onto something. Instead of trying to hate it, I decided that I needed to figure out why I didn’t.

Oh, so under my skin…

The answer stems from the piece’s moving parts. DiBlasi’s plot deviations were devout to fleshing out the backstory so that we saw people, not just characters. He may have deviated, but you can tell that he put some thought into making a fluid story; thus, the changes to the plot weren’t some half-assed attempt to make it more marketable, but actually a bit more terrifying than its written counterpart. This would have been for nought with a poor group of actors, but they all brought it. Rathbone is fun for me to watch – he’s an effective crier when he’s given material that has depth (unrelated sidenote: why is he not doing more comedy? Dude is fucking funny.). His casting as Stephen was perfect because he brought a wide-eyed need to explore and help where he could. I think it worked well with this character. While I’m being honest, I was also hoping when I first saw it that he was going to get the chance to go completely bug fuck and kill Quaid – he’s got the perfect teeth for the job. Crazy teeth are an artform, and few and far between. Despite the deviation from the source material plot-wise, he was a great Stephen because he came off as wounded yet wanting to do something that mattered, and that’s a place that many of us hit in our own lives. We also got a depth with Cheryl that we didn’t get in the short story, from the romantic interest to the backstory. If you’ve watched Steen’s semi-detached performance of a woman recalling her molestation and complete revulsion at its association with meat, you’ll know that it’s effective. It’s also worth noting that we didn’t get any hot sex scenes with Cheryl and Stephen – just a chance to watch two people start dating, which I have to applaud because, so often in mainstream horror, the emphasis is on the boobs and the blood. It made the story that much more real in how it allowed its leads to progress without fully sealing the deal; sometimes, you get to date someone you really like, and sex doesn’t come immediately. That made them more real for me, so that the other parts could be more effective. Also effective was Readwin’s Joshua screaming for his mother when the gun was fired by his ear – that is fucking uncomfortable to watch. When you see a young man screaming for his mother like that, and the camera refuses to look away, it’s intense. There’s getting grossed out, and then there’s shifting in your seat because you don’t want to think about what it would take to get you to that point; DiBlasi managed to make me afraid because I felt like I was watching someone at his breaking point, which is both ugly and terrifying to watch if you’ve ever witnessed someone having a complete breakdown. And then we have Donnelly’s Abby, whose arc and performance broke my heart. Her shyness and rejection were palpable, then factoring in her achingly cruel public humiliation and self-mutilation… yeah, I could see where it was going, but I still watched because I wanted better for her, even if it was just someone taking revenge in her name. I cared about her, and that’s equal parts DiBlasi and Donnelly. Those two brought about an uncomfortable truth to explore in the horror genre: sometimes, terrible things happen to good people, whether it’s a birthmark that renders them invisible/undatable to others or a physical/psychological trauma, and there is no vengeance, nor karma – there is only further pain and injury to that person. We don’t like it, but it’s a fact of life; the world is an unkind place that needs a lot of fixing, and that’s a cold truth that drives many to either try to help or shut their eyes in denial. That we got so attached to and then let down on multiple levels for these characters – Abby in particular – speaks to a story that cared enough about an imaginary person to make us angry. That it got that reaction from me speaks to artistry.

God I want to cry for this character.

Therein laid the rub for me: in the end, this film didn’t give us a catharsis. We saw an asshole get away with it, and continue to torment someone without learning a damn thing. Whereas the short story gave us a sense of irony and closure, DiBlasi and his cast gave us a dark, overcast tale (and kudos to the lighting department for that) in which no one really learned anything. Stephen and Joshua died; Abby was left to recover in a hospital with further physical ailment than she had before; Cheryl was reduced to a starving prisoner with a corpse as a potential meal; Quaid was still searching for the nature of fear, seemingly untouchable. Barker’s short gave us closure; DiBlasi gave us human pain and suffering. I think DiBlasi nailed it in this respect: in chasing the nature of fear, there are no winners, only varying degrees of suffering – a point that Barker makes clear in his works. This film for me therefore represents the right way to adapt something: make it your own, but enough of a think piece to connect it to the source material. And for that, I’m going to slow clap from the cheap seats.

Thursday was a sucker punch. We lost Lemmy Kilmister just before the new year. Then we lost Angus Scrimm. And then David Bowie had to depart in a way that was completely David Bowie: sudden yet knowing, with a sly gift to us Earthlings as we look up to the stars and wonder what delightful adventures our spaceman had in store (for we all know that he is currently having an incredible adventure). Bowie’s death had a bit of closure to it that the others didn’t have; we knew it would be okay, because he made sure to take care of everyone before he left, reassuring us in death as he did for so many of us throughout his life. It’s sad, but it’s going to be okay if only we can focus on the beauty. Alas, the universe had other plans. I walked into work on Thursday and found out that Alan Rickman had passed away after quietly fighting cancer. It was an audible gasp moment, followed by a quick fact check. This must be a hoax. Alan Rickman was supposed to be around forever, so he couldn’t be dead; the concept of him not being here just didn’t seem right. However, it was true, and the heartbreak felt was swift and wrenching. This was the man that had brought so many roles to life for me with his deep voice, piercing eyes and sly smirk. Quickly, the inevitable question came up: “What was your favorite role?” For many, it’s professor Snape; others, Hans Gruber. I loved him as Alexander in Galaxy Quest, but really, for me, my favorite was his role as The Metatron in Dogma.

He’s part of what makes it great.

Part of why Rickman’s Metatron is so enjoyable to watch stems from the fact that he captures a completely underappreciated job with deadpan, smartass charm, and we can relate to that despite that the character is an angel. The Metatron has a pretty high distinction, and yet no one really seems to get who he is or what he does. In Bethany’s room, his intentions of appearing as a divine being to charge her with a holy mission results in him getting doused with a fire extinguisher, as she doesn’t recognize the heavenly messenger. Our first words from him in the film are an exasperated, “Sweet Jesus, did you have to use the whole can?!” That sets the whole tone of his time onscreen, as he launches into a delightfully bitchy rant that culminates in, “No wonder you’re single.” We laugh because we’ve had those moments of rage and inconvenience when trying to do our jobs, yet we can’t express them. It doesn’t stop there, either: it goes from bad to worse when he has to break down who he is and what he does, which further fuels his frustration. And we get it. We’ve been there. For anyone that’s ever worked in customer service and has had to deal with someone who just isn’t getting something simple you’re trying to explain, you have to cover this aspect of yourself so thickly that you resemble a beauty queen’s pagent makeup. The beautiful part here is the Kevin Smith gives Rickman’s Metatron a chance to say the things we can’t. He gets to criticize those he dealt with in the past (“Noah was a drunk, look what he accomplished”) and doles out tough love with sass to someone who doesn’t want to think of the bigger picture (“If you should decide to stop being selfish and accept your responsibility, you’ll have help”). We love this about the character, and it’s cast perfectly as Rickman. Through him, we get to have those reactions that we normally aren’t allowed to have for the sake of being polite. Rickman rolls his eyes. He huffs. He gets pissy and clicks his tongue in disappointment.

Rickman also manages to bring a sensitivity and fairness to the role, largely by means of the inflections in his speech. In our second encounter with him (and really, we only get three if you go back and watch it again), Metatron counsels Bethany, who is reeling from the revelation that she is a descendant of Christ that has been asked to stop the destruction of existence. The character chooses not to argue with her, instead settling for the retelling of an important, meaningful story. We get Rickman’s voice delivered in soft, smooth tones as he explains with a pained expression and voice, “I had to deliver the news to a scared child who wanted nothing more than to play with the other children. I had to tell him that he was god’s only son, and it meant a life of persecution and eventual crucifixion at the hands of the very people he had come to enlighten and redeem. He begged me to take it all back. As if I could. He begged me to make it all not true. And I’ll let you in on something, and it’s something I’ve never told anyone before: if I had the power, I would have. It’s unfair. It’s unfair to ask a child to shoulder that responsibility, and it’s unfair to ask you to do the same now. I sympathize, I do. I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t. This is who you are.” This could have easily been played as Metatron lecturing Bethany, which would not have been hard to do in Rickman’s voice. Instead, Rickman presented it in soothing tones, which not only made the character Bethany feel better: it made us feel better, too. He didn’t have to yell or threaten. He had to kneel down with her, lower his tone, and tell her about another struggle like her own. He had to sympathize with her. He got down on the floor and allowed her to cry, which is something that so many of us need in life, if only for five minutes. In that instant, the audience felt his sense of duty, along with the character’s sense of fairness and empathy. We not only had a smart ass; we had someone that wanted to help. We’re on board because we want to be like that, and deep down (some even not-so-deep-down), many of us are.

I’d let him comfort me.

By the time we get to our final encounter, we see a synthesis of the two previous portions of Metatron’s personality that blend together to create a three-dimenional person more like us. We get to watch Metatron work as the Voice of God. We see his beloved outfit get splattered yet again, and we laugh along with the frustration of this inevitability. We see him deliver the harsh truth about Bethany’s death, and we see the joy he brings when he tells the resurrected woman of her mystery conception. He’s got a sense of humor to go with an unshakable sense of protection and duty. Despite that this is only the third time we’ve interacted with this character, he’s an old friend. Whether you realize it or not, you’re smiling when you see him again, because seeing him means that everything is going to be okay, no matter how scary it gets.

And that, my friends, sums up why I love Alan Rickman in this role so much. It resonates so much because it’s us, and because it’s the comfort so many of us seek out in life. So often, we either have to stifle the smartass reaction or temper it with a deadpan delivery. We often feel unappreciated or unacknowledged. We combat it with sass and a sense of doing the right thing. We carry on, and we try to be as gentle as we can with those who need it. And when all else fails, we use our senses of humor to help lessen the load. “I say we get drunk because I’m all out of ideas,” The Metratron tells the group in a moment of hopelessness. We’ve all been there, man. Couple that with Rickman’s voice, and the warmth radiated is reason why we adored him. He could make us laugh, terrify us or break our hearts in an instant because he projected how we felt. Thanks for articulating – through voice pitch, facial expression and line delivery – how we feel on a daily basis. Thank you for representing us, and comforting us. We’ll miss you, Mr. Rickman.

Last week sucked. Can we promise to try to make this one better? Because I really don’t know if I can do another week like last week.

Let’s spank this week.

This week, instead of a flat-out analysis tomorrow, I’ll be posting my favorite Rickman role (spoiler alert: it’s as The Metatron in Dogma). We’ll get back into the swing of things by deconstructing why Anthony DiBlasi’s Dread worked so well, despite that it completely deviated from source material. We’ll finish out the week be recommending a really weird film from Japan. I think if we all stick with the group and don’t let go of the rope, we’ll be just fine.

It’s a rainy day here in Rochester (which is odd for winter here, but that’s beside the point). Perfect scary story weather. I don’t know about you, but I loved Reddit’s two-sentence scary story challenge. Some of them aren’t as strong as others, but damn is it fun to see how you can get creeped out in under two sentences. One that was a favorite is Drrd777’s “I heard that too,” which director A. J. Meadows made into a short film. Check it out.

Okay, how much does it rock that this one looked so everyday? The messy house, the lighting – I loved that it looked like someone’s real house. I also enjoyed the music, proving once again that you don’t need tons of special effects, just sound, to make something effective. My one complaint there: no credits to list who had done a nice send-up of 80s horror string music. Now, I could have done without the second, unhinged mom downstairs, but it did have its fun in the closeup. In fact, it kind of makes me a little nervous about being home alone right now.

Don’t roll your eyes just yet; stick with me for a minute. Yes, this is a kids’ movie. Yes, it’s a Disney cartoon. However, this one is special. It’s less of a kids’ movie and far more of a reward for an adult that has to sit through a kids’ movie. In fact, you’ll want to watch this one even if there aren’t any children are around; god knows I have. Here are five reasons to watch The Emperor’s New Groove this weekend.

This is really one of my favorites.

#1 – It’s sarcastic

This film’s script was written by David Reynolds, who worked on Late Night with Conan O’Brien in the 90s, as well as the script for Finding Nemo. That should tell you something about the sarcasm potential. This one doesn’t disappoint. Every chance this film gets to make a smart ass remark or throw a dig at someone, it does. It ranges from direct insults delivered in deadpan tone to a completely dense miss on a point. You will guffaw, I promise.

#2 – The voice cast

Shout out to Matthew Jon Beck, Mary Hidalgo and Ruth Lambert, who cast this film: you three nailed it in the best possible way. David Spade and John Goodman (whom I just wanted to yell, “Donny, shut the fuck up!”) are the leads, and they’re perfect as the bratty emperor and the nice guy, respectively. As if that’s not enough, we’re also treated to Wendie Malick, Patrick Warburton, and even Tom Jones in the supporting cast. Not to mention Eartha Kitt, whose voice was absolutely divine as our villain. Speaking of which…

Eartha Kitt as Yzma is the best.

#3 – It features quite possibly the most inept Disney villain of all time

Kitt’s Yzma has moments that are not that swift. Compound that with the fact that she’s aided by the dumber-than-a-box-of-hair Kronk (voiced by Warburton), and it takes the ridiculous failure to a whole new level. It’s glorious; the only other villain that comes close to being this clueless is Meet the Robinsons‘s Bowler Hat Guy, who is a pretty close second for me. Nothing can go right for Yzma, and really, she brings a lot of it on herself. She’s nasty, self-serving, and doesn’t plan well. We root for her to fail, and she delivers. It’s awesome.

#4 – The first pregnant Disney character

Ever notice how in most Disney films, we get the wedding, then the happy shot of a year later with a bouncing, smiling baby in mom’s arms? The process of how the baby gets there is completely glossed over. That doesn’t send the most realistic message to kids – the baby has to come from someplace, and you’re not doing anyone any favors by pretending that babies just magically appear after you’ve been married for a year. Malick’s Chica is not only pregnant, but realistic. She moves a bit slower; it takes a few seconds to get her balance; she reassures her husband that the baby’s not coming for a while. This is something totally new in this respect, and most of the people I’ve talked to haven’t realized this aspect until it’s pointed out. I can respect it for being a bit more grounded in reality.

#5 – A realistic dynamics

You know what bugs me? When movies (and real life families as well) pretend that everything is fantastic all the time and that no one ever argues. That’s just not real. This one has a set of siblings that bicker. A lot. You’ve either seen these fights or had these fights yourself as a kid. It’s more than just that, though. You get couples that get frustrated. You get a friend welcomed into the family, plus jokes about cooking and long-lost family members. It’s a lot closer to real life than what we’re normally presented. It not only works, it’s endearing.

We are these kids on some level.

Even if cartoons aren’t your thing, this one is worth a watch. So head on over to Netflix, Vudu, iTunes or Google Play to give it a try.

Attitudes toward sex are nothing new. There’s judgment galore when it comes to someone else’s sexual activity, often based upon predominant social norms. The Rocky Horror Picture Show offers up a curious study in sexuality as it explores the social guilt of sex, particularly in its labels. Janet (Susan Sarandon) goes from wide-eyed virgin to being branded a wanton slut, and Frank… well, Tim Curry’s Dr. Frank will hit anything that moves, and that’s just accepted. The interesting thing, though, is that this isn’t a question of gender in this acceptance: it’s a matter of individual ownership of one’s actions.

Be it, don’t dream it.

Let’s be perfectly blunt about this: Janet takes the brunt of the judgment, and this could easily be misconstrued as being aimed at the fact that she’s a woman. When we first meet Janet, she’s a virgin. In the course of an evening, Janet is stripped down to her virginal white undergarments in front of a group of strangers, receives oral sex from Frank under the promise of “don’t tell Brad,” then loses her virginity to Rocky. Her virginity is mocked by Magenta and Columbia, marking her status as sexually uninitiated as something of a joke; however, once she gains some experience, she’s judged even more harshly by those around her. Frank chases her around and threatens bodily harm, Magenta glares, and pretty much everyone makes snarky comments about her recent sexual activities. Hell, the audience is quite possibly the worst offender: part of the participation piece is to scream “SLUT!” at her. And why? Because she had the audacity to engage in sex acts with multiple people in a night? For some people, that’s Tuesday, and there’s nothing wrong with that. On the outside, it’s easy to see where someone could think that Janet gets the raw deal because she’s a woman, but then we run into the Brad issue: Brad (Barry Bostwick) passes judgment on anyone that’s outside of his small sphere, and he gets labeled an asshole for it by the audience. He screws around with Frank and gets put on display the same way that Janet does in terms of his state of undress. He endures comments about how milquetoast he is in his personality, as well as how he needs to unleash the inner tiger (a thinly-veiled criticism for not having sex); Brad is, to put it succinctly, a square. Make no mistake: Brad is still judged by both the other characters and the audience in a similar fashion to Janet. Damned when they don’t have sex, and still viewed with contempt when they do.

Between the white and the attempts to cover up…

Frank, however, gets away with having multiple partners of both genders, which in a sense precludes him from the audience and character judgment in the same manner as Janet and Brad. When first in the lab, Frank flirts with both Brad and Janet, later engaging in sex acts with them both. He builds a man to his preference amidst a lab full of phallic exercise equipment, with the express purpose of making Rocky a sex slave. Rocky wasn’t created to have stimulating conversation: Frank makes it clear that Rocky is valued for his looks and sexual performance. Frank also treats the creature as an object, reducing Rocky to a possession rather than a person. He’s not even an old softie at heart – he fucking murders Eddie while everyone stands around! However, these actions get written off as just Frank being Frank. It’s implied that he’s slept with pretty much everyone in the castle; he’s prone to outbursts; he likes to have things done his way. These are all aspects of Frank, and while he’s generally regarded as ill-tempered, Frank gets a pass for the majority of the film because he’s outrageous Dr. Frank N. Furter.

So the question then turns to why Frank is allowed to sleep with everything that’s not nailed down while Brad and Janet receive scorn. The hard truth of this (see what I did there?) lies in the fact that the authenticity and ease of personal acceptance of Brad and Janet’s actions – as well as the social norms they represent – are what earns them the scorn rather than the deviant behavior itself. Brad and Janet start out as judgy squares that refuse to acknowledge their sexuality. They aren’t in control of their actions, as the encounters are initiated by others rather than their own senses of desire. Brad and Janet are a study is the difficulty of overcoming not only the enjoyable aspects of sex, but in the need to accept one’s desires and impulses as part of themselves. Sex shouldn’t have to be something to overcome, which creates the sense of unrest that the audience and other characters feast upon. Frank, on the other hand, owns all of his actions. He openly admits to any and all sexual activity. The only costume changes we see on Frank are amendments to his original garb: leather jacket, lab coat, cape. Brad and Janet, by contrast, have to get stripped down to begin a transformation, and even then, they’re uncomfortable. It’s this quiet acceptance of who he is – by Frank himself and the rest of the participants, whether cast or audience – that separates his actions from those of Brad and Janet. Everyone may be getting down, but Frank is the one without a sense of shame. Therefore, Frank’s self-acceptance leaves others to accept him as he is, establishing him as functioning outside of social custom and dictate.

Totally owning it.

Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching states, “Knowing others is intelligence; knowing yourself is true wisdom. Mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power.” In this respect, Frank represents the acceptance of the self, therefore making him a wise man. A man in tune with his desire, that does not descriminate, and seeks to awaken what’s buried in others does fit the profile presented. Frank is the Sherpa on the mountain to Pleasuretown, and as a result, the audience respects him for this. Frank is not a slut like Janet or an asshole like Brad. He’s simply the mad scientist that likes to have indiscriminate sex, free of all labels.

Army of Darkness is one of those films that plays in consistent rotation at my place. It’s got everything: schlock horror, Sam Raimi’s Classic, Bruce Campbell, and enough sarcasm to take down a small elephant. It’s that last quality that makes the film so enjoyable: it’s snarky, and it doesn’t really give a shit about your precious feelings. That quality is poured into Campbell’s Ash, so much so that if you stop and think about it, he’s a jerk that we really shouldn’t like. So how is it that we manage to wind up cheering this guy on?

Ash is way more buff in this picture than the actual film. Coincidence?

Ash isn’t always a sarcastic prick. In the first film, he’s one of a group that’s trying to stay alive, more wide-ryed victim than wise-cracking hero. He tries to help his sister, his friends and his beloved girlfriend survive demonic possession and carnage, and gets sent back in time for his troubles. By the time we get to Evil Dead 2, Ash is the main character in a role that is more rooted in comedy than horror. He’s not a bad guy, but he certainly gets into more of the physical comedy aspect, taking knocks to the face and a room full of fake blood like a champ. We get to see him endure indignity in the hopes that it will all work out. The shift that occurs as we move into Army of Darkness sees Ash change from a naive participant that stumbles into a bad situation into a battle-weary man with nothing to lose. Our perception of him includes the trauma of the first two films; at this point, we’ve watched him lose his friends, family and a girlfriend to circumstances that, on paper, are pretty horrifying. We’ve had a good two films to watch a nice guy endure bad things, and we’re therefore attached to him; we’ve lived it with him, faithfully returning for the next installment. In this respect, it’s far easier to make the personality transition with him because we’ve already been through so much with him.

You started off so well, kid.

This makes it far easier to write off the bad behavior in Army of Darkness. Make no mistake, if you take a step back to view it, Ash behaves like a total dick in this movie. He insults those around them by constantly referencing how “primitive” he views the inhabitants of 1300s England. He talks down to Sheila (Embeth Davidtz) when she attempts to show him kindness (given, she did whack him on the head with a rock and spit in his face, but she’s trying to make amends). He’s self-serving, evidenced numerous times when he looks out for his own interests. Rather than working to save the lives of Henry and his men, his first impulse is to distance himself from them to survive, proclaiming, “I never even SAW these assholes before!” He only wants to retrieve the Necronomicon when it’s revealed that he needs to it get home; he doesn’t care that countless people will be overpowered by Deadites if he doesn’t help, and that the implications of this happening in the past could drastically alter his future. “The only reason I’m going to get the book is to get home,” he declares, only relenting when someone with whom he has had personal interaction (let’s face it, sex is as personal as you can get) is placed in direct harm. The abstract concept of helping his fellow man doesn’t seem to register until this event. Does this sound like someone with whom we should be on board? Because right about now, after reading that, Ash certainly doesn’t sound like someone we’d like to win. We typically don’t want the jerk to succeed.

Which is precisely why Army of Darkness manages to turn it around in its comedic approach to an otherwise unlikable character. Think about it: yes, Ash is a jerk, but what’s more fun than watching your hero get the crap kicked out of him? Watching the smart ass that has it coming get the crap knocked out of him, that’s what. At this point in the series, we’ve made the jump from wide-eyed college kid to wounded time traveler to jaded, self-centered warrior. Ash does indeed grow and change throughout the series, but not in a way that’s typical to most characters: instead of rising to bravery, he becomes disillusioned and lets the sarcasm fly in an effort to continue surviving. So when we watch Ash get knocked around in the pit, it’s pleasurable because a.) we know that he’s going to win, and b.) he really hasn’t done much to endear himself to anyone around him. It’s funny when Sheila slaps him after her insults her. It’s hysterical when he battles the mini versions of himself in the windmill, because he’s done everything short of rolling his eyes and huffing then asked to do something to help other people. And we laugh when he gets defensive and tells other characters, “Okay, I didn’t say every teeny tiny little syllable…” because we know that if he had stopped being a jackass and listened to directions for two minutes, he could have saved himself a world of trouble. We get to watch him fail, then later succeed. Ash eats his humble pie in full view of the audience.

I make this face, on average, three times a week.

The bottom line, though, is that Ash is really the best we have, and because of these qualities, it’s funny to watch him get hurt and fail. When he has a shred of decency, we want him to succeed. He’s hammy and rude at times, which also hits a bit too close to home for some of us. Ash works in a small-scale department store, with only his wits and experience to help protect him. He’s a bit like us. And deep down, we all want to think that if the Deadites ever came a-knocking, that we’d accept that we had to help people, and find the humor in our lot just as Ash does.

It’s awards season once again. I used to watch them with great fervor, until I realized that the awards were mostly political within Hollywood and less about recognizing something that truly spoke to craftsmanship within the industry. That, and if I have to endure one more attempt at the Oscars version of Susan Lucci trying to win an award, I may have to scream.

I’m looking right at you, DiCaprio.

So, I’ll just put it out there that I really don’t give a shit about who wins this year, so long as I can scratch my head and wonder what the hell everyone decided to wear. It’s safe to say that I’ll be in my own bubble this week, talking about stuff that actually matters. Like Bruce Campbell in Army of Darkness, and labels in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We’ll close out the week by recommending an animated film that’s a total smartass. So pour that extra large daiquiri, pull up a lounge chair, and have yourself a good time.